


Fidelis

by captain_iodine (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Game Spoilers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, blind betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/captain_iodine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Learning that you're not the person you thought you were would crush the mightiest of men. </p><p>Paladin Danse never considered himself a hero, but now in the wake of revelations from the Institute his whole world has fallen to pieces. </p><p>Shunned by the Brotherhood, having fled like a coward, Danse sees only one way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ad Mortem

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece because I felt that Danse was given the short end of the stick during Blind Betrayal; so much more could have been done with his character. 
> 
> This work is an attempt to give him the closure he deserves.
> 
> Contains spoilers for the Brotherhood of Steel quest line, particularly Danse's companion quest Blind Betrayal. If you haven't completed it yet, what are you doing here?! Go do it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Waiting... Waiting was the hardest part._

Waiting… Waiting was the hardest part. 

Danse was used to it, of course — some ops called for it more than others, and he learned pretty quickly that patience was vital in hanging onto his sanity while setting up an ambush, or infiltrating an enemy stronghold. 

That didn't mean that he enjoyed waiting, however. It left a lot of time to think, and with all the mistakes he had made over the years, he had plenty of them to mull over. 

Running from the Brotherhood had been the biggest. 

They would come after him, that much he knew. He trusted Haylen not to give him up, but that didn't mean the Brotherhood wouldn't track him down eventually. When Maxson got an idea into his head it was all but impossible to shake; that they had worked so closely together for a long time — that Arthur had come to rely on him as one of his most trusted advisors — would only make him hunt Danse down all the more stubbornly.

He wondered if they all realized he had been just as much in the dark as they were about it. If he was to be branded a traitor and killed, he wanted them to know that he truly had been loyal to the Brotherhood all along. He wouldn't get the chance to tell them now; rather than face execution before his brothers and sisters, he would be put down like a dog. 

Now there was a pleasant thought. Bitterly, it dawned on him that he should be grateful at the very least that he had no family to be ashamed of him when he was gone. Once the Brotherhood took care of him, his name would fade into obscurity. 

He wished he hadn't run. 

He had risked his life again and again for these men and women, and yet when it had come time to answer for his crimes, he had fled. 

_For honor_ , he would cry, in the heat of battle. _For glory!_

What honor was there in running from justice? What glory would he find, living out the rest of his life as a fugitive? 

He thought of his friend, the vault dweller he had recruited at the police station. Could he even call him his friend any more? It felt wrong to think of him that way, as though he had betrayed the man just by getting to know him. 

Danse had sworn after Cutler that he wouldn't let anybody get close to him again, and then he had gone and broken his own rule. What made it all worse was that he hadn't had the chance to explain himself, to give his side of the story. He wondered what would happen to the man who had started out as his charge only to become so much more. Would they promote him to take Danse’s place in the hierarchy? Would they send him after the traitor, the Paladin who had brought him into the Brotherhood and schooled him in their ways? 

Danse chuckled darkly at the thought; the sound was so strained and unfamiliar that it caused him to flinch. 

He didn't want to be put down in his sleep, he realized. He didn't want to spend his days looking over his shoulder, searching the faces of strangers for any sign of recognition. He most certainly didn't want to remain hidden away in the bunker, either, living a meager existence amid the thick smell of damp and decay. 

Most of all, if he was to be hunted down, Danse didn't want the Brotherhood to send _him_. After Cutler — after everything — the thought of the first person he had opened up to in years being the one to kill him was more than he could bear. 

Inactivity was making him edgy. There were only so many times you could pace the same room before losing your mind; at the very least, if he was to be forgotten, the dust-coated concrete might recall the tread of his boots, worn in after hours of pacing. 

He would go up to the surface, he decided, coming to a halt. It would be easy, really. He would enter the first Brotherhood outpost that he came across with his weapon drawn, and while he had no intention of harming his former comrades, he knew that they would see that he was armed and shoot him on sight. 

It wouldn't be the hero's death that he had hoped for, but he was no hero. He wondered if he ever had been — if all that he had done could have been enough to carve his name in the annals of Brotherhood history, had things turned out differently. A part of him couldn't help but suspect that everything he had accomplished, every supposedly selfless act of bravery, had been nothing more than programming. 

Sickened, he turned and retched; his stomach was empty, at least, which saved him the indignity of staining his uniform with vomit. But still he heaved, dropping to his hands and knees. It took him too long to realize that he wasn't heaving any more, but sobbing. 

This was what he had become — a pale, miserable facsimile of a man, crying in self-pity. The thought of it was enough to make self-loathing boil up within him. He drew upon that feeling until his shoulders ceased quaking, focusing on the gushing of his pulse in his eyes, the bite of the concrete beneath the palms of his calloused hands. 

By the time he climbed to his feet once more, his mind was made up. 

There was only one thing he could do, and as he set about making the preparations he became more and more resolute. Running had been cowardly; if he could do anything now, it would be to show the world that he was no coward. He would do what the Brotherhood had trained him to do. He might not be human, but he could still devote his last moments to the betterment of mankind — just like he had been taught.

He didn't have any holodisks on him, but he found an old one lodged in the terminal in the next room over. It was corroded with age, however a cursory check told him it still worked — the peeling, faded label told him it was loaded with pre-War music, a souvenir of the bunker’s last occupant. He neglected to listen to it. It could be written over, at least. 

His eyes tracked over his surroundings: the mildew-stained walls, the rubble, the disabled Protectron units. This really wasn't how he planned to go out — it was no firefight against super mutants, no last stand against the Institute — but it was the best he could hope for as a traitor. As an abomination. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he pressed record and began his final entry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, English is my first language but American English is not. For the sake of immersion and consistency with the canon, I've chosen to use American English spelling variants. 
> 
> This writing was completed without a beta — feedback is much appreciated!


	2. Ab Initio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Danse hated being drunk, but that didn't mean he found the sensation unpleasant._
> 
>  
> 
> Set long prior to Ad Mortem, aboard the Prydwen following Sole Survivor's promotion to Knight.

Of all the things Danse had been looking forward to doing upon boarding the Prydwen, extended debriefing was not among them.

He knew it was part and parcel of his role as Paladin, and his duties took precedence over his desires; even so, as reports were given and the new recruit was properly inducted — freshly promoted to the rank of Knight, following his recommendation — he couldn't help but let his mind wander to thoughts of the hot shower he planned to take. Water rationing be damned: he'd earned it. 

He stood underneath the modest spray of water with the cold faucet turned off for as long as he could tolerate the scalding heat. Before long the timed hot water had run out, and he was forced to bathe in an ice-cold torrent. 

When he took a look at himself in the mirror after dressing, he could hardly recognize his own face without all the dirt caked into his skin. He toyed with the thought of going clean shaven as well, but the memory of how badly Haylen had teased him the last time was enough to make him think twice. He smirked to himself, wondering how she was holding up with Rhys — he had sensed growing exasperation on her part with the Knight, which he imagined would only get worse the longer they were cooped up together.

The door swung open with the squeak of metal hinges in need of a treatment of oil; where he stood, he could feel the steam rush out of the room, taking the heat with it to be replaced by cold air. The occupant of one of the showers protested loudly and colorfully until the door shut once more with a bang. 

‘Paladin Danse.’

He didn't need to glance up from the mirror to recall that voice; while they had only worked together a few times since his induction, the new Knight had a soft but commanding voice. Danse had almost been surprised to learn he had served in the military — he seemed more likely to battle with words than a gun. What was the old adage about the pen and the sword? 

‘Knight,’ he replied, with a nod. He noticed his recruit had finally been geared up in an orange flight suit, the uniform for their chapter. It made a change from the Vault 111 suit, threadbare and stained in blood and dirt as it had been. 

‘You can call me Rafael, you know,’ the man said. He smiled ruefully then. ‘But I guess you're not going to. Regulations or whatever.’

Danse wasn't sure if he was being mocked, so he readied himself with a retort. The words never quite made it out, however, as he noticed the smile on Rafael's face. Given the crinkle of his hazel eyes, half obscured as they were by the dark mop of hair that had fallen out of its usual neat side-part, Danse decided that he was just being gently teased. He was grateful that his Knight was easier to read than most of his recruits had been, at least. 

‘Y’know,’ Rafael said, half-facing Danse as he laid his belongings down on a bench and set about unzipping his flight suit, ‘one of these days I'm gonna get you drunk so you can finally let your hair down. I know there's secretly a person under all that metal.’

Danse had no response to that; he wondered, pensively, if perhaps he was too cold. Too withdrawn. He had always questioned why Krieg never seemed to like him, and yet here he was. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he thought of Cutler. He couldn't go through that again — he _wouldn't_. 

Still… There was something about Rafael that made him want to open up while his every instinct screamed not to. He seemed like somebody who could be trusted. Somebody who would have your back, no matter what. 

‘Maybe when we have the Commonwealth under control.’

‘That's a pretty long raincheck, Paladin,’ Rafael said. He scrubbed at the stubble on his cheek. ‘If you leave me waiting too long, I'm gonna start to think you're snubbing me.’

With a smirk, the Knight turned his back on Danse and left him to his thoughts. 

Danse knew that if he were anybody else, this would be the moment he gave in to his gut and invited his charge to the mess hall for a few drinks. Being who he was, however, he let the opportunity pass until too much time had elapsed and it would be awkward to say any more. He almost regretted it; they could have had a rapport, if he just tried a little harder. Rafael certainly seemed willing. 

After the Paladin had gathered up his things, he moved to the door to go. Once outside, he heard a voice drift out just before the door swung shut. 

‘I'll get you to have that drink, Danse. Just you wait and see.’

*

It wasn't long before Rafael got his wish, although perhaps it wasn't under the circumstances either of them expected.

They had been out on a routine patrol — synths supposedly spotted in an urban area, which turned out to be a false alarm — and when they returned the Prydwen felt different. Danse couldn't quite put his finger on it until they made their way up to the main deck and found themselves deafened by the sounds of celebration. 

At the top of the ladder they were mobbed by a small crowd who tried to force grubby glasses of unidentified liquid upon them. Danse politely declined and urged them to make way. 

‘What are we celebrating?’ Rafael asked.

His eyes seemed alive with excitement; as if by osmosis, the revelry was rubbing off on him. It was easy to forget that in his timeline, he had lost his wife just a couple of months earlier — that he was still trying to track down his son. 

‘Finnerty is having a baby,’ somebody shouted. 

Danse ran through the names in his head. Finnerty — not one of his, anyway. A moment later he caught sight of a woman being supported on the shoulders of her comrades with a mock-up of a diaper made of toilet paper draped around her hips. 

Quizzically, he looked at Rafael, who seemed to have the same train of thought. 

‘She's pregnant?’

One of the scribes, a perpetually flushed man with a constellation of freckles on his face, supplied the answer. 

‘Not her,’ he shouted, straining to be heard over the din. ‘Her girlfriend!’

Rafael seemed to see this as a good excuse for a drink; he took the nearest one proffered and raised it in a toast. 

‘To Finnerty,’ he proclaimed, and the others roared in response. 

While the crush of bodies made it difficult to traverse the hallway in his bulky power armor, Danse was relieved that it made it somewhat easier to slip away without having to make excuses. 

The power armor station wasn't entirely empty, but its occupants seemed caught up in their own celebrations to the point that Danse was free to exit his armor in peace. He thought for a moment that perhaps he should join in the celebration, but it occurred to him that he might be needed — sober, and not nursing a nuclear hangover. 

The clunk of power armor alerted him to somebody's presence nearby. He expected Ingram, in her modified frame, but when he looked up he found Rafael approaching him. 

‘I didn't even know Finnerty had a girlfriend,’ the Knight said. ‘Feels like a cheap excuse to get wasted, but I'll take it.’

‘They don't…’ Danse paused. How to phrase it, as devoid of emotion as possible? ‘There's no official policy about it, but the Brotherhood traditionally frowns upon those relationships. It's not the sort of thing people talk about openly.’

Rafael’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. He looked awkward for just a moment before recomposing himself. 

‘Oh,’ he said flatly. ‘I get it. I guess some things haven't changed as much as others.’

He looked like he might say more, his lips parting briefly. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself. 

He had brought a drink with him from the mess hall, half empty already. As carefully as he could given the lack of fine motor dexterity the arms of his T-60b afforded him, he set it down on a table and made his way over to the bay that had been given to him to tinker with his armor. Once there he dismounted and made his way back to reclaim his drink. 

Danse did little more than watch him. He wondered if the talk of a baby being on the way had made him nostalgic; surely he hadn't stopped thinking about his son, even if the Brotherhood weren't as quick as he might have liked to help him find the Institute. Danse wished he could understand what that was like — having some personal mission to drive you. For as long as he could remember, it seemed, his duty to the Brotherhood had been the only thing keeping him going. 

‘Oh, shit,’ Rafael said once he had returned. He set his drink down again, having barely picked it up to begin with. ‘Gimme one sec.’

He darted off in the direction of the mess hall once more, leaving Danse to stare in wonderment. He had another drink in hand when he got back; somehow, along the way, he had procured a party hat which was perched at a jaunty angle in his hair. 

‘I know you've been trying to avoid this, but you can't say no this time,’ he said, extending his hand to give Danse the glass. 

Danse made a face. He very well _could_ say no, and he planned on it too — until suddenly Rafael was grabbing him by the wrist and forcing the drink into his grasp. 

‘Party hat says I'm the rightful boss of you for one night only,’ Rafael said, voice deep with faux gravity. He did a fairly good Maxson impression. ‘And my first order is for you to enjoy your damn self for once, Paladin Cranky-Pants.’

The nickname made Danse scowl darkly, protestations ready on his lips, but Rafael seemed ready to accept none of them. 

‘If you give me this one night, I'll quit pestering you for good. All right?’

Even Danse had to agree that it seemed like a good deal. With a little reluctance, he opened his hand and allowed Rafael to press the glass into it. 

‘Now drink up,’ Rafael ordered. ‘If I see a drop left in that cup, I'm trying you for insubordination.’

*

Danse hated being drunk, but that didn't mean he found the sensation unpleasant. He had a tendency to get loose with his words when there was alcohol in his system, and Rafael had a way of coaxing whatever he wanted out of him. It didn't even seem to be just Danse who was susceptible to his charms — Proctor Ingram, normally so wry and taciturn, had opened up to the new recruit about her accident within moments of first meeting him. 

They talked about their lives before the Brotherhood, and before Danse could stop himself, he realized he had come to trust the other man — had come to see him as a friend.

‘Y’know, I was puking up my guts in a disgusting bathroom stall at some dive when I found out Nora was going into labor,’ Rafael admitted. ‘My buddies had dragged me out for one last night of baby-free debauchery.’

‘That's terrible,’ Danse replied, with a thick laugh. ‘You left her home alone so close to when she was due?’

‘Nah,’ Rafael said. He shook his head a little too zealously. ‘Shaun was, what, three weeks early? We always joked it'd happen when she was out at the park where…’

It took a few beats for Danse to realize his companion had trailed off. He wanted to press Rafael on the subject, but the distant look on his face was something between wistfulness and melancholy. However much they had opened up to one another that night, this seemed like a subject that might hit too close to home. He knew loss, sure, but not the way Rafael did. It was easy to forget sometimes, but the man had lost everything. 

‘Ooookay,’ Danse said. Things had taken a distinct turn for the less fun. ‘Time to turn in.’

They had moved their conversation to the stairwell leading up to the catwalk up top; clumsily, he clambered to his feet from where he had been sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. 

‘Lightweight, tch,’ Rafael muttered. In spite of his disdain, he made a valiant effort to stand and supported himself with the railing alongside them. 

‘Kells is going to want us bright-eyed at the briefing tomorrow afternoon,’ Danse warned. Even as he said the words, he felt dread sink in over how he was ever going to make it through the next day with a pounding head. 

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Rafael waved him off impatiently. ‘You get in trouble, blame me. I'm the bad influence, right?’

Danse couldn't help but smirk. 

‘Right.’

They began to go their separate ways, Danse in the direction of his quarters, Rafael towards the bunks. The Knight stopped suddenly, turning to face him. 

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You're not so bad. Anybody asks, I'll tell them you're only half-robot. The rest is all party.’

In a more sober state, Danse might have protested; as it was he shook his head ruefully and watched his friend go. 

It wasn't until he was on his cot hours later and the room had finally stopped spinning that he realized he had wound up doing what he had never planned on — making a friend. Even with the threat of the impending hangover and a day of duties to soldier through, he had no room in his thoughts to regret a single thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm well aware that the in-game layout of the Prydwen doesn't include a big locker room with showers, I took some liberties adding one for the sake of realism. I think the choice not include one was a matter of it being unneeded, rather than intentionally left out. 
> 
> In the spirit of continued immersion, I tried to maintain American English as best I could. I never realised — er, _realized_ — just how many little differences there were.
> 
> Lastly, as somewhat of a tangent, Finnerty is mostly in there because I headcanon that lots of people of Irish descent wind up in the Brotherhood. I mean, come on — Mcnamara? Lyons? Good to know we survived the apocalypse, at least in some form...


	3. Per Ardua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘We'll figure it out,’ he had told his friend. ‘We always do.'_
> 
>  
> 
> The final retrospective before Danse's arrival at Listening Post Bravo.

Learning to trust again was like erasing everything Danse knew and rewriting it all over from scratch. He trusted the Brotherhood, of course — they had all pledged themselves in earnest, forging bonds on the battlefield stronger than any between blood siblings. 

Even Rafael, who had admitted once when they were alone that he had joined up because the military was all he knew with his family being gone, soon earned his place amongst their ranks — became one of them, through and through. It gave Danse a great deal of pride to see them welcome him so quickly into the fold. 

That sort of trust wasn't the problem, however; for Danse, it was easier to trust his brothers at arms to have his back than it was to trust somebody else with his feelings. After their drunken night on the Prydwen, something had changed, and to Danse it was as terrifying as it was exciting. 

Cutler had been a friend, a confidant, a rock — there had been times when Danse thought, maybe even hoped, that he might have been something more. In the end, the bond they shared hadn't been enough to protect Cutler. Hadn't been enough to save Danse from making a call that he never dreamed he would have to make. 

And yet… He believed in Rafael. He watched the man find his way, at first as a rusty former soldier, later as a hardened Knight who proved himself time and again during battle. He trusted Rafael to be there when he needed him, and then one vulnerable night Danse trusted him to listen, and found that his trust wasn't misplaced. 

He told his charge all about Cutler, about the virus, about what had happened afterwards. He let it all spill out without meaning to and at the end of it all Rafael was silent for a while, before stretching out a hand to rest on the arm of his power armor. Danse wished they didn't have the hulking mass of two sets of armor between them; after weeks out in the field, he was starved for human contact. 

The closest they came to embracing in their time together was on bitterly cold, wet nights in the barren wasteland when they huddled close to one another for warmth, their power armor abandoned to stand over them like unmoving sentinels. 

And then Rafael disappeared. Maxson gave him orders to infiltrate the Institute, hijacking their own technology to gain a foothold; after Danse had watched his comrade — his friend — vanish in a flash of blue light, Ingram had belatedly thought to tell him that she hadn't been sure the tech would work to begin with. She couldn't even be sure if it _had_ worked, not until Rafael reported back. If he ever did. 

Time went by with no word from him and everyone presumed the worst. Some claimed it had been a mistake to trust schematics provided by a so-called sentient super mutant who had once worked for the Institute; others claimed that Rafael had betrayed them, that he was using the information he had learned in his time with the Brotherhood to plot against them. 

To Danse, the more likely option was that the Knight was dead — either killed by the experimental technology of the relay or, if by some miracle it had worked, by the Institute on the other side. Yet he couldn't bring himself to accept such a possibility; they had overcome too much together for Rafael to suffer such an abrupt, unfitting end. 

He blamed himself most of all, for enlisting Rafael in the first place. He blamed himself for getting too close. 

When he had confided in the Knight about the loss of half his recon team, Rafael had said he believed in him. Those words had stuck with Danse; in spite of that, however, he had failed his friend, as he had failed so many others. 

Life with the Brotherhood passed by in monochrome for the Paladin. He still had his duties to uphold, but he knew he could never make the mistake of letting somebody get close again. 

*

‘Paladin Danse, report to the command deck.’

At first he had thought he was dreaming; opening his eyes groggily, however, he heard the order repeat itself over the speaker. He was dressed and ready to go in under a minute, as put-together as he could be on such short notice. 

Maxson was waiting for him, his back to the doorway as he stared out at the Commonwealth. The fade on the sides of his head looked freshly buzzed in; Danse wondered how the Elder could look so pristine at such an early hour. 

‘Thank you for joining me so quickly, Paladin,’ Maxson said. As usual, he seemed to sense Danse's presence before he made an attempt to make it known. ‘You might wonder why I summoned you so early. Unfortunately there was no time to spare.’

Finally Maxson turned around and was silent for a moment as Danse approached. The Elder seemed to study him, frowning slightly. 

‘How can I be of assistance, Elder?’

‘I just had a very interesting debriefing,’ Maxson stated. ‘With Knight Sousa.’

The words rang in Danse's ears. He stood in stunned silence, unsure whether he dared to believe it. 

‘Knight… Knight Sousa?’

_Rafael._

‘Yes,’ Maxson confirmed. For a moment, Danse thought he caught a ripple of a smirk cross the other man's lips. ‘I've sent him to Proctor Ingram to be briefed on the matter of Liberty Prime. He was successful in persuading Dr. Li to return to us; he may prove useful in restoring Prime to its former glory.’

Danse felt it well up within him — relief, pride, excitement. He stood as patiently as he could, hands clasped behind his back while he awaited further instruction; his legs, however, itched to sprint outside to catch the nearest Vertibird down to the airport.

‘Before I allow you to leave,’ Maxson continued, ‘I have orders for you. Knight Sousa was gone for a month, a month that we can't account for. While I would like to trust that he is still true to his pledge of loyalty, I think you'll understand that Kells and I are cautious to allow him out into the field again without supervision.’

It seemed a shocking thing to say, but after the knee jerk reaction of surprise Danse realized that it was prudent — how could they be sure that Rafael wasn't somehow compromised?

‘Of course, Elder,’ he said calmly. ‘Am I to assume I'll be the one to oversee him?’

Maxson nodded. 

‘Proctor Ingram informed me that she'll be sending him to find a nuclear payload to power Liberty Prime, which will take him into the Glowing Sea once more. The need for vigilance on a mission such as this is paramount.’

 _In case Rafael decides to use it against us,_ Danse realized. The thought was sickening. 

‘Understood, sir. I won't take my eyes off him.’

*

It seemed ironic to look back on it now; being sent out to ensure that Rafael wasn't a traitor, only to return to the Brotherhood and discover that he was the one nobody should have trusted. 

He had spoken with Rafael at length about the Institute, on their journey to the Glowing Sea. The man's son — snatched from him so unexpectedly — was not only alive and well, but serving as the leader of the Institute. Rafael admitted one night that it had taken him so long to return because he had been torn about his orders; to follow them would have been to betray his son. Danse understood the conflict. He also understood why Rafael had kept that reason to himself when debriefing with Maxson. 

‘We'll figure it out,’ he had told his friend. ‘We always do.'

The ultimate irony was that it had been intel Rafael turned in that had revealed Danse to be one of the Institute’s abominations. Danse couldn't help but wonder if his friend had been at all privy to the contents of the holotape when he had handed it over to Ingram. 

It didn't matter now, he figured, as he made the long trek to Listening Post Bravo. He hadn't had time to speak to Rafael before he left — to confront him, or to explain. He could add that to his ever-growing list of regrets. 

The bunker had seemed like a good fallback point when they had first found it; it occurred to him only now that he had never thought to inform the Brotherhood of its whereabouts.

He tried not to let the thoughts creep into his head, but they were insidious. 

They told him he had known he would betray the Brotherhood from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to put more detail into Danse's relationship with Sole Survivor in an initial draft of Fidelis, but I quickly discovered that wasn't the story waiting to be told.
> 
> I do plan on focusing on more of their backstory at some point, but it will probably be in a different series with a different Sole Survivor.


	4. Ad Finem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A vein pulsed at Maxson's temple, but his gun remained unfired._
> 
> We pick up with Danse at the bunker once more, and he realizes he had it all wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of this chapter opens at the end of Ad Mortem, as Danse plans to act on his decision. It might not be suitable for anybody feeling particularly vulnerable right now. 
> 
> There is sex later on in the chapter, although it's not particularly graphic.

The seconds seemed to drag by, each heartbeat an eternity. 

The pill looked so tiny in his hand. Innocuous. 

He wondered if he would feel any pain. 

He wondered if there would be anything on the other side. 

‘Do synths go to Heaven or to Hell?’

Danse wasn't sure who he was asking; the only response he got was the steady, incessant dripping of water from a leak in the ceiling. 

He knew the answer was probably something more disquieting: he would simply shut down, like a machine, and cease to be. 

He shuddered. The thought only made him more resolute. 

He lowered himself to his knees. Closing his eyes, he made what was as close to a prayer as he could muster. If there truly was nothing beyond death for him, then he only hoped it was quick. 

A hand rested itself on his shoulder, strong and real and tangible. Through the material of his flight suit he could feel the warmth of it. He knew without even looking up who he would find standing in front of him. 

‘I'm not surprised Maxson sent you. He never liked to do the dirty work himself.’

At last he opened his eyes. He almost wasn't sure if Rafael was real, or if his mind had fabricated him. Maybe he had already taken the pill; maybe this was the afterlife. 

‘Even if he hadn't sent me, I would have come after you,’ Rafael said.

His glance darted to the pill in Danse's hand and back up to meet his eyes. A moment later he was kneeling too.

‘Did you come to kill me?’ Danse asked. He sought some sort of an explanation in Rafael's face — any hint of remorse over the orders he had most likely been given. 

And then, to his surprise, Rafael shook his head. 

‘I didn't come to kill you,’ he murmured. ‘And I didn't come to watch you die.’

It didn't take much force for him to wrest the pill from Danse's hands. The former Paladin had been prepared to do what had to be done, right up until he saw Rafael's hazel eyes. Within them, Danse saw the closest thing to home he had ever had. 

‘Cyanide?’ Rafael said, with a hint of disgust. ‘Jesus. I guess things really haven't changed.’

Without warning, he flung the pill across the room. It made a tiny, insignificant sound as it hit the floor and rolled away. 

‘Are you going to bring me in?’ Danse asked.

That prompted a snort from Rafael in spite of the moment. 

‘Danse,’ he said firmly. He gripped the other man by the hands and looked him in the eye. ‘I'm on your side. Do you hear me? I'm. On. Your. Side.’

Danse stared at his friend blankly. He heard the words and he knew what they meant, and yet he couldn't make sense of them. He was a synth — how could anybody be on his side? 

The world seemed to fall away as he registered Rafael coming closer, his eyes serious. And then his friend's lips were on his own. 

The kiss ended entirely too soon, but after a moment Rafael’s hand was cupping his cheek and moving closer to touch their foreheads together. 

‘I'm not giving you up that easy, Danse,’ he said, and the words were like honey. ‘Not ever.’

This time, when Rafael moved in again to kiss him, Danse was ready. He reciprocated as he hadn't realized he had wanted to for months — maybe since they had first met. For the first time, he felt alive. 

The pounding of his heart, the warmth that filled him from head to foot — was this what it meant to be human?

He was barely aware of Rafael reaching for the buckles and straps that fastened him into his flight suit; before he knew it, he was helping. They fumbled with shaking hands like teenagers, kissing each other hungrily all the while. 

Rafael had the top half of Danse's uniform off him when he pulled away, pressing a hand to Danse's sweat-slicked skin. 

‘Wait,’ Rafael said huskily, looking seriously at him. It was hard not to be distracted by the flush of lips. ‘Are you doing this because you want to, or because you thought you were going to die?’

They were in a cold, damp bunker deep underground, surrounded by debris and broken machinery. Just moments earlier Danse had been ready for the end. Rafael did have a point. 

It was enough to make Danse pause — not because he didn't know the answer, but because he didn't know if the timing was right.

And yet… He knew exactly what he wanted. 

He wet his lips and chose his words carefully. The physical contact could be written off as desperation; what he was about to say could not. 

‘I'm doing this…’

Calmly he lifted his hand and ran his fingers through Rafael’s hair, dislodging a dark strand of it so that it felt into his eyes. With a tiny bit of a smile that he didn't even realize he was making, he brushed it back into place. 

‘I'm doing it because I never thought I'd see you again.’

That seemed to be the right answer as Rafael smiled and rewarded him with a kiss. 

*

They passed the night exploring each other, experimenting with what felt right until they each grew more comfortable. Rafael hadn't been with anybody since his wife, and if they weren't taking two hundred years on ice into account it had been even longer for Danse. 

There were false starts as Danse grew too nervous, and at one point in the night their fooling around gave way to speaking frankly with one another about what they each expected from the other. As it turned out, it wasn't all that different. 

When Danse was finally drifting off on the edge of Rafael’s bedroll sometime around three that morning, the Knight roused him with a playful nip of his ear. 

‘I want to touch you,’ he whispered, and just like that Danse was awake. 

There was no faltering this time — once the Knight took Danse's cock into his mouth it didn't take much to have him arching in pleasure, mussing up his friend's hair all over again as he gripped it possessively.

When he came, Rafael swallowed almost dutifully, and it struck Danse just how different this man was to the other lovers from his past. For one thing, he didn't expect to be alone when he woke up. 

For Rafael’s part, he seemed more halting as Danse touched him this time. He sensed his friend's hesitation and went slowly in turn, starting with kisses on his throat and becoming more heated the lower he got. 

Rafael still seemed tense, so Danse stopped and looked up at him. The aggressive hold he'd had on his friend's hip softened to become more reassuring. 

‘I get the feeling you don't want to do this any more,’ he said. 

There was a pause, after which Rafael shook his head with a sigh. 

‘You don't know how right it feels to be with you, Danse,’ he said. ‘I just… I can't get over the fact that I could have lost you.’

Danse swallowed the lump that had been forming his throat and, not for the first time in the past few hours, said exactly what was on his mind. 

‘I thought I _had_ lost you,’ he admitted. ‘And when I opened my eyes to see you standing there, I was scared that you hated me, just like everybody else — that you hated me enough to kill me.’

He let go of Rafael’s hip and sat up, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

‘I thought there was nothing left for me after I ran from the Brotherhood, but I was wrong. I thought taking that pill was the human thing to do, but I was wrong about that too.’

‘It's human to suffer,’ Rafael said gently, sitting up beside him. He stroked his hand through Danse's hair, and that simple touch was enough to make the former Paladin's heart thud heavily in his chest. 

‘It's human to screw up,’ Rafael continued. ‘It's human not to know what to do. To be scared. To think you owe people something. But you don't, Danse. You don't owe anybody anything.’

This time, when Danse touched Rafael again the moment was right. He took his sweet time about it too, teasing Rafael to the brink again and again until the man was drenched in sweat and writhing, uttering a string of curses under his breath like a prayer. 

Finally Danse decided to give in; with his hand he brought Rafael to a climax that had the Knight shuddering and crying out, and with his mouth he silenced his lover, staking claim to him with a kiss that left them both breathless. 

*

Maxson was waiting for them on the surface. 

With the dawn mist swirling at his ankles, he cut an imposing figure. Danse had always respected the man and deferred to his judgment; for the first time, he was intimidated by him.

Arthur Maxson was known for being passionate about his duties, perhaps to a fault, but the love and respect he showed to his people set him apart from many who had shared the same position. The man that greeted them was as cold and unbending as the steel for which the Brotherhood was named, any semblance of understanding gone from him. Beneath the surface, rage simmered.

‘How _dare_ you betray the Brotherhood?’ he spat.

If Danse knew him at all, it wouldn't take much to make him snap completely. He knew better than to argue his case now; he realized with a jolt, however, that Maxson wasn't talking to him. 

‘It's not his fault,’ he protested.

He opened his mouth to say more, but Rafael got there first, moving himself between the two of them. 

‘You _followed_ me here?’

Danse had to admire him. He was in no position to argue and yet there he was, sounding indignant over the fact that the Elder had failed to trust him. It didn't pass him by that Rafael was shielding him, either. 

‘I had you watched,’ Maxson said coldly, ‘and it seems I was right not to trust you. When your tail reported in and said you were still down there hours later, I decided to come see for myself.’

The Elder took a few purposeful steps forward. Danse could almost feel Rafael tense; a glance at his lover's hands showed that they had balled into fists. 

‘I ordered you to put that _machine_ down, and yet here you both are,’ Maxson said. ‘Tell me, Knight — tell me you don't have the stink of that _thing_ all over you.’

The silence seemed to speak for itself. Contorting his face in revulsion, Maxson spat at their feet. 

‘You're as bad as the synth,’ he hissed. ‘To think you broke bread with my people, fought alongside them… I should never have trusted you to do such a simple task. I should have done it myself.’

Things happened in a blur of limbs; Danse saw Maxson reach into his coat, and at that very moment Rafael lunged forward and took a swing for him.

His fist collided with the Elder’s nose and with a sickening crunch it gave way, emitting a spout of blood. Maxson was made of sterner stuff than that, however, and seemed undeterred as his hand found his gun at his hip. 

It was a small laser pistol, nothing compared to his signature weapon, but it would do the trick if needed — in the time it took him to raise it and aim, however, Danse had snatched the side arm from Rafael’s holster and train it on Maxson. 

Maxson wasn't aiming at Danse, he realized. Perhaps the Elder finally understood who the bigger threat was. 

‘Drop the gun, Arthur,’ he said levelly. ‘We can see who's the quicker shot if you want to, but I like my chances.’

A vein pulsed at Maxson's temple, but his gun remained unfired. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, weighing up his options. Danse knew that his opponent could shoot him first, taking him out of the equation, and then go after Rafael. They both knew that Danse would get at least one shot off before that happened, however, and he didn't intend on missing.

After what felt like a lifetime, Maxson lowered his weapon and holstered it. As a show of good faith, Danse did the same and returned Rafael's. 

‘You're going to let Knight Sousa go,’ Danse said. ‘And then I'm going to come with you.’

Even through all the blood, the shock on Maxson's face was clear to see. Judging by the strangled ‘No!’ that issued from Rafael’s mouth, he was just as stunned. 

‘You're not going anywhere with him,’ Rafael said sharply. He didn't seem to dare to take his eyes off Maxson, but Danse caught his glance flickering over in his direction. 

‘He's not going to stop coming after you until I'm dead,’ Danse said, stretching out a hand to touch Rafael’s arm. ‘Don't you see? Anywhere we go, the Brotherhood can come after us. If I go with him…’

‘No,’ Rafael said, shaking Danse's hand off. ‘I didn't come all this way just to lose you. Either we all walk away, or none of us do.’

‘It doesn't have to come to that—’

‘Will you stop acting like this isn't my fight too?’ Rafael interjected. Danse had never seen him look quite so angry. 

‘This is all very touching,’ Maxson said, feigning boredom that did little to hide his disgust, ‘but it's not up to you who walks away. That thing tricked and manipulated its way into the Brotherhood’s trust, and _you_ betrayed us. You'll both be punished for your crimes.’

Rafael laughed then, and the sound was so haunting that for a moment Danse felt he didn't truly know the man any more. He watched, chilled, as Rafael unholstered his gun and raised it, bridging the gap between them until the barrel was pressed to the Elder’s forehead. 

‘That month I spent with the Institute, that you wanted to know all about?’ He looked wide-eyed; almost feral. ‘I got to know that place better than anyone. They have an almost limitless supply of synths waiting to rain fire on you and all your men. I didn't plan on siding with them over you, Maxson, but you might want to think wisely here.’

Maxson barely blinked. A rivulet of blood rolled down his neck in the ensuing silence, staining the sheepskin at his collar. 

‘And what exactly is that supposed to mean?’

Rafael shook his head with a scoff. 

‘You know very well what it means,’ he retorted. ‘So the way I see it, you've got two options. One: you let us walk away. You tell your people we're dead, and that's the end of it. Or two: you find out just how serious I am.’

Danse watched with bated breath as Maxson stared Rafael down. In the end, the Elder was the one to look away. 

‘Come on, Danse,’ Rafael said. Still training his gun on Maxson, he gestured to go. ‘We're done here.’

Even as they walked away, Danse didn't feel he would be able to breathe easy until they were well out of range of Maxson pistol. They were still within earshot when the Elder turned and called out to them. 

‘If either of you set foot in the Commonwealth again, my men will shoot on sight. Don't test me on this.’

Rather than respond in kind, Rafael threw up his free hand without turning around. A quick glance revealed to Danse that he was sticking up his middle finger. 

‘Do you think it's wise to be trying to piss him off?’ Danse said through gritted teeth. 

Rafael shrugged.

‘Probably not, but it sure is fucking enjoyable.’

He kept his finger up in the air for Maxson to see, long after they had disappeared from view. 

When they were far enough away to feel a little bit safer, they tossed their holotags in the first stream they found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties including a cyanide pill; it doesn't seem much of a stretch to imagine that somebody as high-ranking and valuable as Danse would have a safeguard against capture.
> 
> I also borrowed a couple of lines of dialogue directly from Blind Betrayal to tie it in (I'm sure you'll recognise which ones), but the rest are entirely mine.
> 
> Initially I had planned to have Rafael shoot Maxson, but it seemed too melodramatic for the tone of the piece (which is already pretty dramatic, I know). Instead he channeled some of our hatred and got to smack the guy across the face like many of us would love to do. 
> 
> Also, if you're curious about Rafael's last name, Sousa, I might just have based him a tiny bit around Enver Gjokaj's character from _Agent Carter_. That, and he's ethnically Brazilian.


	5. Semper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At some point in the day, while they were still drowsy, the clouds parted outside and allowed a shaft of sunlight to stream through the fogged-up window._
> 
> An ending, and a new beginning.

It was a bitterly cold morning in Far Harbor, with a kind of pervasive drizzle that seemed to seep into the very bones of a person. It didn't seem to matter how many layers Danse shrouded himself in; the chill never quite managed to go away. 

He stood on the pier overlooking the ocean, the collar of his sweater popped against the wind. When Rafael slipped up from behind and wrapped his arms around him, he was grateful for the body heat. 

‘You hungry?’ Rafael murmured, pressing a warm kiss to his earlobe. ‘Mitch has fresh crab with our name on it.’

Danse wrinkled his nose. It was a habit Rafael hadn't quite gotten out of; when he said ‘crab’, he either meant the giant hermit crabs that inhabited the Island, or the mirelurks with which he was already familiar. Neither option was particularly appetizing.

‘I think I'll pass.’

Rafael smirked against his ear and dropped his forehead against Danse's collar. 

‘Okay,’ he said, voice muffled. ‘But you can't live on scavenged Cram forever.’

They walked back up the pier together, shoulders bumping from time to time until they matched each other's strides. Before they reached the town proper, Rafael leaned in to speak softly in Danse's ear. 

‘It's too cold,’ he said. ‘Let's go back to bed.’

He didn't have to ask twice. 

*

They dropped a few caps on a bottle of bourbon and locked the door as soon as they got upstairs, with every intention of staying in all day. 

Rafael poured them each a glass and sat down on the threadbare mattress, kicking off his boots before curling up at Danse's side. He laid one kiss on the other man's cheek, downed his drink and then pressed another to his throat. 

Danse had planned on savoring the bourbon a little before things moved along but it seemed Rafael had other ideas; he barely had a chance to touch his drink before Rafael was tugging at the hem of his cable knit sweater. 

With their glasses set aside and the cheap bourbon all but forgotten, Danse let Rafael push him onto his back and climb astride him, sliding his sweater up enough to run his fingers through the coarse, dark hair disappearing into the top of Danse's jeans. 

Danse slipped his arms around his lover, pulling him into a heated kiss. He tongued at Rafael’s lips until he parted them, and before Danse knew it Rafael had his belt buckle open and was slipping his hand beneath the band of his boxers. 

‘Somebody's eager,’ Danse murmured into the kiss, chasing it with a throaty chuckle.

Rafael shut him up by biting his bottom lip and tugging at it with his teeth playfully; it was just on the right side of painful, and it sent a thrill down Danse's body and into his pants. His cock strained against the confines of his jeans, his skin afire. 

‘Now who's eager?’ Rafael teased. 

Smirking, he sat up and unzipped his lover's fly. He wasted no time in tugging Danse's jeans down until his dick was free. The tip was already slick with pre-cum; Rafael dipped down to lap at it with his tongue and it sent a throb of pleasure through Danse that prompted a little groan from his lips. 

Their clothes became an unnecessary barrier before long and they each tore at the other's, with little interest in being gentle. Once they were skin to skin Rafael climbed into Danse's lap, straddling his cock. The mere brush of warm flesh against it was almost too much to bear and the former Paladin gave a predator growl, knotting his fingers through Rafael’s hair and pulling him into a hungry kiss. 

How many times had they done this? Danse had been in Far Harbor going on three months, and Rafael had joined him halfway into it after a stint at the Institute to tie up loose ends. From the day Rafael showed up in town they seemed to spend more time in bed than out of it, as if to recoup the months they had spent on the road with little knowledge of how they each felt. 

Danse was more than happy to make up for lost time. 

‘You want to fuck me up against the dresser again?’ Rafael asked once the kiss had ended.

His lips had that hot, flushed look to them that always made Danse want to skip everything else and fuck Rafael’s mouth. He never used those exact words, of course, but whenever he started to nudge Rafael down in that direction it didn't take long to figure things out. 

‘Where _haven't_ we done that in here?’

Danse was partly joking: mostly he was curious. Idly, he slipped his hands free of Rafael’s hair and ran them down his shoulders, more muscular now after weeks of pitching in around town. More tan, too — what little sun permeated the fog on the Island had left his skin a deep brown. Danse, meanwhile, was covered in freckles. Rafael never ceased to express how much he loved it. 

‘Done _what_ in here?’ the other man prompted, and Danse realized he was going to make him spell it out. 

‘Made love,’ Danse supplied. 

Rafael gave a deep, rumbling laugh that made Danse's heart pang. It was rare to hear him genuinely laugh since Shaun had passed away. 

‘You talk like a virgin,’ Rafael teased, ‘but at least you don't fuck like one.’

Danse wondered if it would have been different had they been doing this while still in the Brotherhood — sometimes it was terrifying to relate to somebody on an interpersonal level without the shield of his rank between them. Rafael did his best to make it easier. 

‘I'll _fuck_ you however you like,’ Danse stated, and traced his hands the rest of the way down Rafael’s back to land at the jut of his hips. He thrust upwards, grinding his erection against Rafael’s ass. 

Lube was hard to come by; through sheer accident they discovered that the homemade lotion the fishermen used on their storm-ravaged hands served the purpose just as well, although neither of them thought to question the ingredients. 

Rafael did the honors of grabbing the pot full of the lotion out from under the bed and quickly smoothed it over Danse's cock. He gave it a few lazy tugs along the way and bit his lip as he watched Danse writhe. 

It seemed they had done this a thousand times before; Danse knew by rote the exact way that Rafael would tip his head to the side, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted as he pressed down on Danse's erection. He always traced his fingers up the inside of his own thigh, in a tic that Danse suspected was involuntary.

This time, Danse took his place, running his own calloused fingertips softly down the other's flesh. Rafael shuddered at the contact and his skin broke out in goosebumps. Watching his toned body tremble at the most delicate of touches filled Danse with the need to _have him_. 

His arms were around Rafael a moment later, pulling him down until they were pressed close. Their mouths met in a stream of breathless kisses and Danse moved his hips in a steady rhythm, relishing the feel of Rafael grinding down against him in turn.

There had been days of slow, languid sex in the past, in which they had spent hours touching and teasing one another. This time they barely hit the ten minute mark; Danse tried to hold off until Rafael came first, but it was all too much and he bucked involuntarily with a choked groan as he tumbled over the edge. 

He recovered just enough to grip his hand around Rafael’s cock and move it slickly over its length until Rafael threw his head back, digging his blunt nails into Danse's shoulders. 

Rafael blurted a frantic ‘ _fuck_ ’ before collapsing in a quivering, panting heap on top of him. 

They lay like that for what could have been hours, stirring only to lazily kiss or slake their thirst with bourbon. 

At some point in the day, while they were still drowsy, the clouds parted outside and allowed a shaft of sunlight to stream through the fogged-up window. 

Danse had to admit: life didn't get much better than this. 

*

There were nights when Danse would awaken terrified; in the moments before the haze of sleep fully cleared he would imagine the outline of a man in a battlecoat darkening the doorway.

When he got up to relieve himself, staring the mirror above the sink in the communal bathroom, he thought he would catch the yellow glint of a synth's eyes in his reflection. 

On those nights, when he returned to bed he would lie awake for hours until the sound of Rafael’s steady breathing soothed him back to sleep. 

In time, the residents seemed to forget that the two men from the Commonwealth hadn't always been there; as a reward for all they had done to help the town, they were gifted with their own newly-built shack along the coast, complete with condensers to keep the fog at bay. 

It wasn't the life either of them had expected before they met each other, but Danse found he couldn't complain. Waking up next to Rafael each morning made it all worthwhile. 

*

They sat together on the sand at the shore, ignoring the damp seeping into their skin through their clothes as the watched the sun vanish beneath the ocean at the horizon. 

There was a cat in Danse's lap — more fur than feline. When the former Paladin returned from a supply run with a kitten in a basket, Rafael had informed him that it was a Maine Coon, and that they had a tendency to get very big. It didn't help matters that Danse spoiled the damn thing with a whole fish to eat to itself whenever he caught any; oddly, he hadn't come up with a better name than Hey You. It had stuck. 

‘I'm heading out to Acadia next week,’ Rafael said. Absently, he ran his hand through the snarled tangles of Danse's shaggy hair, jaw-length now and longer than it had ever been. ‘You wanna come with? There's caps in it for a few days of work.’

Two years ago, Danse would have balked at the thought of visiting a known synth refuge. Now, after everything, he didn't even flinch. 

‘Sure. Maybe we can finally find a bulb for that damn light in the bedroom.’

Rafael chuckled and shook his head. Danse always insisted the light flickered in there; personally he didn't see it. 

Hey You stretched and made a trilling sound in her throat, indignant at being woken up by the sudden noise. She was soon back asleep, purring happily as Danse scratched the spot she liked on her back at the base of her tail. 

‘Okay,’ Rafael said, with a slight shudder. ‘I'm freezing my ass off. You coming in?’

Danse was disappointed when the other man loosened his fingers from his hair, but he wasn't quite ready to leave just yet. 

‘I'll be there in a little while. Warm up the bed for me.’

Rafael snorted and left before Hey You could protest to being woken once more. 

He stayed longer than he planned, too distracted by the way the fog played with the light of the dying sun. 

Eventually the no-see-ums were enough to drive him away, loving the taste of his blood as they did. He shooed Hey You from his lap and climbed to his feet, stretching out his stiff limbs while the cat wound in and out around his legs. 

It was hard to believe sometimes that this was his life now — this was who he was. When he thought of the point at which everything could have gone differently he found himself humbled. He wasn't a religious man, never had been, but sometimes he wondered if Rafael had been driven into his arms by something greater that night two years earlier, when Danse had been ready to end his life. 

Other times he thought he was being foolish. There was no such thing as fate. 

_Are you happy here?_ he had asked in bed once, further proving a theory Rafael had voiced that he was terrible at pillow chat. _With… With me?_

Rafael had just laughed and kissed him, pulling back to look at him with a cocked brow and crinkled hazel eyes in the way that said Danse was being crazy. 

_Of course._

Rafael had taken his hand then; Danse noticed for the first time that he no longer wore the band of gold on his ring finger. 

_Maybe we didn't plan things this way, but this is our life now,_ Rafael had replied. _You're my life._

Danse turned away from the ocean, away from the dark expanse of the world beyond and towards the welcoming oil lamps hanging from the eaves of their home. 

He didn't think he would ever forget the last thing Rafael had said after that. 

_I love you. Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! 
> 
> Thank you so much for following along in my first Fallout 4 story. Knowing that there were even a few people reading has been a kick in the backside to do my best. 
> 
> What started out as a quasi-fixit fic turned into something that I became pretty invested in. Honestly? I don't want to finish the BoS storyline with Raf now. Maybe I'll have him wander off to Far Harbor with Danse and pretend like the endgame isn't a thing... Suddenly I want to see Danse with that jaw-length hair. 
> 
> Oh also, in case you haven't heard of them before, Maine Coons are a thing. They are huge. Seriously, look them up.


End file.
